Signal in the Dark Part 13

"But he's not drunk," she protested earnestly. "Edward McClusky is a diver for the Evirude Salvage Co. Whatever ails him must be serious!"

The policeman stared at Penny and then down at the unconscious man on the stretcher. "A deep sea diver!" he exclaimed. "Well, that's different!"

Deftly he loosened the man's collar, and at once his hand encountered a small disc of metal fastened on a string about his neck. He bent down to read what was engraved on it.

"Edward McClusky, 125 West Newell street," he repeated aloud. "In case of illness or unconsciousness, rush this man with all speed to the nearest decompression lock."

"You see!" cried Penny. "He's had an attack of the bends!"

"You're right!" exclaimed the policeman. He consulted his companions.

"Where is the nearest decompression chamber?"

"Aboard the _Yarmouth_ in the harbor."

"Then we'll rush him there." The policeman turned again to Penny. "You say you know this man and his family?"

"Not well, but they live only a few blocks from us."

"Then ride along in the ambulance," the policeman suggested.

Penny rode in front with the driver, who during the speedy dash to the river, questioned her regarding her knowledge of the unconscious man.

"I don't know much about him," she confessed. "Mrs. Weems, our housekeeper, is acquainted with his wife. I've heard her say that Mr.

McClusky is subject to the bends. Once on an important diving job he stayed under water too long and wasn't properly put through a decompression lock when he came out. He is supposed to have regular check-ups from a doctor, but he is careless about it."

"Being careless this time might have cost him his life," the driver replied. "When a fellow is in his condition, he'll pa.s.s out quick if he isn't rushed to a lock. A night in jail would have finished him."

"Will he be all right now?"

"Can't tell," was the answer. "Even if he does come out of it, he may be paralyzed for life."

"Do you know what causes bends?" Penny inquired curiously.

"Nitrogen forms in bubbles in the blood stream," the driver answered, and drew up at the waterfront.

Penny followed the stretcher aboard the _Yarmouth_. In the emergency of offering quick treatment to McClusky, no one heeded her. The man was rushed into the air lock and placed on a long wooden bench.

A doctor went into the chamber with him, signaling for the pressure to be turned on. Bends could be cured, Penny knew, only by reproducing the deep water conditions under which the man previously had worked. Pressure would be raised, and then reduced by stages.

"How long will it take?" she asked a man who controlled the pressure gauges.

"Ordinarily only about twenty minutes," he replied. "But it will take at least two hours with this fellow."

"Will he come out of it all right?"

"Probably," was the answer. "Too soon to tell yet."

To wait two hours was out of the question for Penny. After discussing the matter with police, she agreed to notify Mrs. McClusky of her husband's difficulty. Glad to be rid of the duty, they dropped her off at the house on West Newell street.

Mrs. McClusky, a stout, red-faced woman with two small children clinging to her skirts, seemed stunned by the news.

"Oh, I knew this would happen!" she cried. "Ed has been so careless lately. Thank heavens, he was taken to the decompression chamber instead of the police station! A good friend of Ed's lost his life because no one understood what was wrong with him."

Penny called a taxicab for Mrs. McClusky while she excitedly bundled up the children.

"Bless you, for letting me know and for helping Ed," the woman murmured gratefully as she climbed into the cab. "Will you tell me your name?"

"Oh, I'm just a reporter at the _Star_," Penny returned carelessly. "I do hope your husband suffers no ill effects."

The taxi rattled away. With a tired sigh, Penny hastened on home. Lights burned downstairs, and both her father and Mrs. Weems had waited up for her.

"Now don't ask me where I've been," the girl pleaded, as she tossed her hat into a chair and collapsed on the sofa. "What a night! I've had enough adventures to fill a book."

Despite her admonition, both Mrs. Weems and her father plied her with questions. Penny told them about the deep sea diver and then worked back to the story of what had happened in the photography room.

"Are you certain anyone came through the skylight?" her father asked dubiously. "It doesn't sound convincing to me."

"Footprints don't lie, Dad. They were on top of the cabinet."

"The janitor may have stood on it to fix a light bulb or something."

Penny became slightly nettled. "I'm sure someone was sneaking around in that room tonight!" she declared flatly. "And it wasn't the janitor either!"

"I'll order the skylight kept locked except during office hours," Mr.

Parker declared, yawning. "Any further adventures?"

"Plenty," Penny said, "but they'll keep until morning. There's just one thing I want to ask you. Are you in need of a good male reporter?"

Mr. Parker came instantly to life. "Just lead me to him," he said. "I'm desperate."

"Then why not hire Ben Bartell?"

Mr. Parker's face lost all animation. "I couldn't do that," he commented.

"Why not?"

"He's not the type of reporter I want on my paper."

"Exactly what do you mean?"

"Oh, Penny, I don't like to go into all this with you. Ben has a bad reputation. He's hot tempered and unreliable."

"Because he got into a fist fight with Jason Cordell?"

"Yes, and he foments trouble among employes. I have enough problems without adding him to the list."

"Ben didn't strike me as a trouble maker. Who told you about him?"